


We Could Die Chasing This Feeling

by coefore



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Fluff, M/M, alternate universe - Retired Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coefore/pseuds/coefore
Summary: Ahab and Ishmael are two retired soldiers who are in extreme need of peace in their lives. They thankfully have each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title's song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byoWTx3BqdU
> 
> Illustrations are done by me. Hope you enjoy!

Rain poured down from the grey sky, soaking every poor soul who roamed the streets at the early morning hour. The droplets would fall onto the glass of the bedroom’s window, a soft, regular sound rising from the contact.

The two men, still asleep, were huddled in their bed. They looked like the raindrops, identical. Their faces would be indistinguishable if it wasn’t for various scars on one of the men’s face; two pieces of a shrapnel shell were sticking out from the right side of his forehead. A gift war kindly wrapped on him. War also took away though, his arm. The left. And before that, an eye. The right.

The prosthetic he used was a strong crimson red, a friend gave it to him. It was an oddly vivid colour to show off in the streets, but Ahab didn’t mind too much. People usually looked at his face, first.  

His partner was sleeping face down, head hidden in the pillows, as his brown hair fell sloppily down his neck, showing some grey here and there. Ishmael’s light snoring was the first thing to welcome Ahab to his wake.

The two men were identical, even the same eye missing. But Ishmael was still in one piece, as for his limbs. War hit him too, carving a scar on his chest, resembling a snake enveloping its prey. The two men had found each other by chance, on the brim of their psyche’s meltdown. They had found each other by chance, leaving death, guns, roars of bombs and fighting to someone else. Leaving them all behind.

The two men were identical, but they weren’t in actuality. They weren’t the exact same height, as Ahab was just a few centimetres taller than Ishmael was. He was also two years older but it never really mattered.

Ahab beat his lashes, looking at the ceiling before turning his head to the snoring sound. Ishmael’s white shirt popped out from under the duvet, just a little. He was still sound asleep, sprawled in a way that made his foot brush against Ahab’s thigh.

They were odd companions, soulmates in a sense. There wasn’t really an explanation or a label to put on their way of living this relationship and they didn’t care to tell others, as they didn’t care to tell it to themselves either. They were just Ahab and Ishmael.

Ahab moved his good arm and decided to poke the other’s cheek with a finger. Ishmael shut his eyes harder before opening them. He felt a little drool on the right side of the face but the beard covered it up.

“Good morning.”

He mumbled, still laying down in what must have been a very comfortable position.

“Good morning.” was Ahab’s reply, scooting a little closer just as Ishmael’s bulky body shifted on his right, now facing his companion.

“It’s raining.” Ahab added while a lock of his hair was lifted by two of Ishmael’s fingers.

“Your hair is getting pretty long.”

“Yours too.”

“Are you striving for a real ponytail or something?” he let out a raspy chuckle and placed his hand on his partner’s head, stroking it gently. “It would fit you, probably.”

They were in their early fifties, but sometimes their conversations sounded like the ones teens would have. Comprehensive of all the awkwardness and embarrassment encompassing that age.

Ahab showed a half smile.

“I think _you_ ’d look nice with a ponytail.”

Ishmael’s brows knit down and he moved his eyes to the side, just for a moment. He looked pensive.

“You think so?” he replied, letting his hand slide down Ahab’s cheek and fall on the mattress. The older man nodded.

It was always jarring how the two men managed to live a quiet life even though they would hear a constant machine gun rattling in the background noise of their head, or the taste of blood in their teeth, a general uneasiness around all these civilians that didn’t know and didn’t understand.

But they understood each other, and when they were together, talking softly in the weak morning light, it didn’t feel too bad.

Ahab lazily moved his right arm on Ishmael’s hip, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of his shirt. _Let’s eat breakfast_ , he heard the other man say before a loud yawn interrupted him. Ishmael stretched his arms, the crackling of bones making him sigh a little, before sitting up. Ahab looked at him getting out of bed, passing a hand in his hair and grabbing his eyepatch from the bedside table.

Ahab’s hurting body managed to sit up on the edge of the bed, taking his prosthetic from the floor and neatly attaching it to his left arm’s stub. The tingling sensation at the base of his missing limb was something he was used to, nowadays. Sometimes he would still try to grab things with his left, as if he was still in one piece. Countless glasses and plates broken on the floor would make him realise that, indeed, this fake arm had been a good choice.

He heard their dog, DD, excitedly barking at Ishmael, whose voice was just as low as ever but it was always nice to hear him talking to that big pup with an amused tone.

DD was a two years old mixed husky. Ahab had found him, probably when he was just two or three months old, on his way back home. He missed his right eye.

Ahab had thought that was destiny. He would always pick up random animals, much to Ishmael’s grunts and sighs; _we can’t keep them all_ , he’d say before joking about eating them. Sometimes he feared Ishmael was way too serious on that note. But DD was different. The dog took Ishmael aback with his exuberance and instant love for the two men. His reaction was mumbling something, _he’s cute_ , before picking the pup up in his arms, cuddling him for a while. A true diamond.

When Ahab got to the kitchen, Ishmael had already fed the dog and had promptly started cooking something. Both the two men were bad at it, but they managed to survive with their own little messed up recipes. They could eat anything, anyway, even if the taste was disgusting.

 “Boss, do you need help?”

Ahab always called Ishmael _boss_ , since he was his superior in the military. Ishmael himself didn’t really like the nickname, but was stuck with it so he had never really told Ahab to stop.

“Check on the eggs.” He bluntly said, passing the spatula to his partner. He disappeared towards the bathroom and when he was back, hair slicked back, face clean and eyepatch on, Ishmael found the eggs in his plate and toasts ready to be eaten. Coffee was on the table, already poured in their respective mugs.

“Ahab?”

Ishmael called out his name, since he was nowhere to be seen, but the man’s bright red arm showed itself from behind the table. He was sitting down on the wooden floor, petting DD.

“I was waiting for you.”

“On the floor?” Ishmael chuckled and sat down at the table, joined shortly after by his companion. They voraciously ate all that was in their plates, in a relaxing silence. They never really talked much. Most of the times, it was Ishmael who would bring up a topic and Ahab would nod along. It was like they were desperately trying to find peace, in a way or another, even in their own words.

Ishmael sipped his coffee while glancing at the newspaper Ahab had retrieved from the mail. The other man went to the bathroom himself to get clean. He took a shower, it always helped to ease the pain of his aching muscles. When he reemerged to the kitchen, his partner had moved from the table to near the window. He had opened it, cigar dropping down from his mouth, as his face was still stuck on the pages of the newspaper.

“Any good news?”

Ahab asked, walking closer to the other man. He was wearing a dark navy button shirt and grey trousers, his hair tied back into his usual small ponytail; as for Ishmael, he was still in his boxers and night shirt.

The reply was just a shrug and a puff of smoke from his nostrils. Ishmael’s blue eye met Ahab’s when the man’s prosthetic hand stole the cigar from his rightful owner. He took a drag in and puffed out some.

“Let me enjoy this one, at least. Go back to your electronic thing or whatever that is.”

He said, frowning and lowering the newspaper. Ahab smirked, cigar still in his mouth.

“This is going to kill you, boss.”

“ _Thank God_ , then.”

Ishmael seemed a little annoyed, by nothing in particular and by everything at the same time. Something in him clicked at that remark. _I know_ , he thought, staring at Ahab's clueless face. He tried to play it cool, letting out a small grunt.

“You should take a shower.”

The other man added, handing out the cigar to him, but Ishmael's only reply was pushing the newspaper on Ahab's chest and walk off the room.

Ahab, seemingly used to this, put the cigar in his mouth yet again as he looked down at the news himself. He puffed out once more, before placing the cigar in the ashtray on the windowsill. It had stopped raining. A gentle, cold breeze was sweeping some leaves in the streets, the clouds moving rather fast.

He heard DD whining at his leg, dropping his good hand down to give him some pats.

“Do you think he got angry?”

The dog moved his head on the side, confused at the question. The man fell silent. He put out the cigar and threw the newspaper on the kitchen table. He took out his mp3 from his trousers’ pocket and started listening to some tunes. Music always cleared his mind.

\--

Ishmael was in the shower, warm water dropping down his body. His muscles relaxed and he let out a loud sigh, realising how he stupidly overreacted. Sometimes humans are irrational. He just didn’t want to think about death and how much he felt he deserved it; Ahab’s comment just rubbed him the wrong way, but it wasn't the man's fault.

It was never the man's fault, anyway. Ahab never meant him harm with his words.

He traced the scar on his chest with a finger, staring to nowhere in particular. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress his memories; the way he lost his eye, the way this scar appeared on his body. A knife in his hand, blood on the floor. War.

He focused on Ahab’s face. His rare smiles and gentle touches, as if he was always scared of breaking something. Breaking someone. It was good to be with him. There was no need to think about his problems with him around, or if they did, at least they were two. They were together.

Ishmael sighed once more, his eyes open again. His field of vision, cut in a half, rested on the water being dragged away in the drain.

\--

Ahab had been messing with a Sudoku at the end of the newspaper for some time while listening to David Bowie, when Ishmael patted his shoulder. He turned to his partner, who was wearing a black turtleneck under a black jacket and khaki pants.

“Did I upset you, earlier?” The man asked very straightforwardly, his usual blank expression showing a little concern.

“It’s okay.” Ishmael wasn’t good at mending relationships, at fixing his mistakes, so he would usually try and communicate with apologetic displays of affection; luckily Ahab liked this way of communicating. Words are unnecessary, heavy and problematic. He felt the younger man’s touch move to his neck, resting his callous hand at the base of Ahab’s head, stroking it a little.

“DD wants to go out.” He said, leaning a little into the touch, which just so briefly took its journey to his cheek.

“Did he tell you?” Ishmael showed a smirk, hearing Ahab reply  _he did_ , under his breath. The man stood up from his chair, stopping Ishmael from going to get DD’s leash. He held onto his hand, just enough to cling their fingers together.

“Can I hug you?”

Ishmael frowned once more and, just like the awkward boy he was inside, his cheeks became warmer at the sudden request. Ahab’s face was also a little rosy, as he had uttered his question while his head was slightly bowed downward.

“Sure,” Ishmael cleared his throat, trying to keep his eye fixed on the other man, “why, though?”

“I just wanted to apologise.”

“I told you it’s okay.” Ahab moved closer, his cold, metallic arm unsurely touching Ishmael’s hip. “I," he grumbled, trying to find the best way to word his sentence, " _I_ should apologise. I didn’t mean to act like an asshole.”

Ahab wrapped his arms around his partner and Ishmael definitely felt like his cheeks were on fire, as his own arms crawled on Ahab’s shirt to hold him as well. It was so comforting. His voice became softer, as he mumbled,

“You should stop asking when you can hug me, just,” Ishmael rested his head on the other man’s shoulder. Smell of cigar and soap, his favourite scents. “Do it, whenever you feel like it.”  Ahab turned his head just a little, his partner still looking at the other’s eye. They moved closer and bumped their foreheads together.

And Ahab’s face was completely red, his face looking like a sad, embarrassed dog himself. They actually never shared too much physical contact because they ended up extremely self-conscious about their every movement, about their age, about how they were supposed to act. But they were getting better at it. It was something shared between them, like a secret.

They knew in their hearts, when they needed a hug without awkwardness and unrequited nervousness; when they needed comfort to mend their invisible wounds, there was no stiffness in their touch, they understood how to take care of one another in these moments of pain and memories.

But another thing was to just hug. Just hold one another for the sake of feeling good and feeling loved. Feeling their muscular and yet soft bodies under each other’s fingers. It was like solving a riddle for them. Difficult, confusing, but fun in a way.

Ishmael let out a very uncharacteristic giggle at the sight of Ahab’s blushing face and the man himself stared at the lovely image of his boss laughing. That was a side of Ishmael that only he knew about.

“Boss, you’re so cute sometimes.”

Ishmael tried to keep a smug look on himself, but it looked like a small, very modest smile.

“Stop saying that.” He tried to reprimand his companion with fake intentions, murmuring, “I’m nothing like that.” Ahab’s held Ishmael closer, as their noses touched before letting their mouths meet, just for a moment, sharing a small, intimate kiss. Ishmael kissed Ahab another time, on the cheek, before gazing at each other’s eye again. Now they were both red as a sunset, but also just as warm. Now, smiles slowly formed on their old, tired faces. They felt silly for being thankful of these moments.

Ahab took the man’s hand and dragged him to where they usually kept DD’s leash. He called for the dog, who promptly rushed towards him, just as excited as earlier for the prospect of a good walk. They both kept some kind of satisfied smile on, a peculiar sight. When Ahab couldn’t keep DD still to get him ready for his walk, Ishmael let out a nervous laugh he had been holding in. The man looked liked he had forgotten how to handle a dog all of a sudden, his shyness was his most charming trait, Ishmael thought.

“What are you laughing at?” Ahab chuckled back as the other man shook his head and held the big pup for him.

“Nothing.”

\--

Ahab held Ishmael’s hand, while they were walking in the park and DD was snooping something in the trees and in the grass, smelling and marking everything he found interesting.

Ishmael held Ahab’s hand, as the wind blew on their worn out faces and they sat on a bench, lazily gazing at the pond in which a few, lonely ducks would gather, probably expecting bread from the two figures.

And when they weren’t holding hands it was because people stared; they stared at these two half men, twins at face, who were trying to find their place in this society. Going out was harder for Ahab, as his disfigured face would always make someone wonder what happened, wondering who these people were. How they were even alive. People's unknowing eyes dug other scars in the two men. But they grew accustomed to the idea of feeling uncomfortable, of walking the streets and feel alone. But they would feel alone together, at least.

“Do you want ice-cream?”

Ishmael asked the other, while throwing a small rock in the pond. He made a commotion among the ducks who really thought it was a treat and rushed to the sound.

“Boss, it’s winter.”

“Right.” He exhaled, a little disappointed in himself. Maybe he should have suggested something different; trying to cheer people up is hardly a simple task. Not that Ahab had done something to show he was upset, Ishmael just knew he was.

“But I like ice-cream. Let’s eat some.” Ahab was staring at the pond, his mouth opening to a smile. Ishmael gripped to the new rock he was almost throwing in the water. He really wanted ice-cream, actually.

“Yes!" He almost exclaimed and tried to cover up his childish enthusiasm, composing his low tone of voice yet again, "That’s good.” 

“You really want ice-cream, don’t you.”

“I do, but so do you.”

\--

They had ice-cream, sitting on an outside table of a café. It was so cold, but it didn’t matter. Ahab stole a spoonful from Ishmael’s glass, but offered his own to his pretend-angry boss. It felt a little better, this whole thing, their whole lives. It was a little better.

When they returned home, it was late after lunch, around three in the afternoon. They had brought some dog food for DD and had a hamburger at a friend’s fast food. They chatted with him for a while, as he had briefly took a break from work. _How are you doing_ , he would ask. _A little better_ , the two would reply. _Definitely, a little better._

Their apartment was getting warmed up, as they changed into something more comfortable. Ishmael had on a cosy looking brown sweater and lose pants, as for Ahab, he changed to joggers and an equally warm red sweater. They decided to watch a movie while resting on the sofa, and they really looked like two old men. They would sarcastically comment on most things in this B action movie they had chosen. And by them, it meant it was usually Ishmael who would give out deadpan jokes to which only Ahab could ever laugh at.

They held each other’s hand, yet again.

It was a quiet afternoon, rain started pouring down again from the dark winter sky. DD was sleeping near them on the sofa, sometimes woken up by Ahab’s sudden need of stroking his fur.

Peace was nice.

They shared another hug, as the movie credits were rolling. Still embarrassed as ever, but definitely wanting each other’s arms around their bodies. This time, it was Ahab’s turn to kiss his partner on the cheek, as he heard him whispering _you’re the one who’s cute_.

Ahab never considered himself _cute_ , less now than ever, as his whole body screamed roughness and decay; nor was Ishmael _cute_ per se. Ishmael was a gruff, bulky man, with a full beard and hair all over his body. He was rather intimidating for different reasons than Ahab was. His behaviour was off-putting, he would perfectly know how to deal with prisoners during war, how to look threatening and make people spit truth out of their mouths.

But now Ishmael was in his arms, his warm body under his hands. And he was another person entirely, his awkwardness showing all its colours, because he not-so-secretly loved being called cute, as he was mumbling a very embarrassing compliment to an even more embarrassed Ahab.

War changed them, but in the end, they were finding each other once more.

So, when at night they would sleep huddled together, their dreams would be less about bombs and phantom limbs, but more about living the time they’ve got left. Waking up would slowly become easier, because they knew they could hold each other. Because they knew they could die chasing this feeling.


End file.
